


Firsts

by drunkonsmut



Series: The Doctor and the Professor [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chilton lovin', Dating, F/M, but a bit of angst first, he's a bit sensitive here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonsmut/pseuds/drunkonsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series about the beginning: meeting, questions and kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jimhoppersbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimhoppersbeard/gifts).



> Doing these mostly to explore Chilton's character and his reactions/feelings. So, most of these are going to be working from his point of view.

He had come to this event in the hopes of getting away from his misery, not wallow in it some more. When he got home after a long work day, the bareness of his immaculate house felt oppressive and he found he couldn’t bare another night spent the same way…alone and feeling sorry for himself. It’s been a while since he returned to work normally, but the thoughts he had left creep on him during those recovery weeks still lingered and he hadn’t felt like himself in a long time.

He spotted the fancy museum invitation on the kitchen counter. He had only gone to one other event of the sort since he got that exclusive membership. It was exclusive and expensive and Frederick Chilton had more money than he knew what to spend it on. Apparently this was to give the members a first look of a new acquisition. His little bother’s voice came to him with annoying clarity and reason, _Nothing’s going to change, Frederick, unless you try to change it yourself._ He grabbed the invite, checked his suit and was out the door.

Now he was frowning at a painting. He squints slightly to read the label.

 _Duchessa di Montejasi with Her Daughters, Elena and Camilla._  
 Edgar Degas.  
On loan from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

It was the spitting image of his mother’s disapproving face, subtle and stabbing. The same face she had when his brother brought her to visit him at home that first week after getting out of the hospital. She had never been there. It was one of the strangest sights he’s seen in recent times, his mother standing in his living room. She stood there for a long time, taking in the impersonal décor, the white walls, glancing at the empty kitchen.  He stood in the threshold, still pale and fatigued with a hand placed protectively over his stomach.  With a hard stare fixed on her, he willed her to not to say what he knew was sitting at the end of her sharp tongue. She didn’t, merely shook her head and asked if she could see the upstairs floor. Frederick didn’t feel any better with her silence.

He figured this was what they meant that great art stirs great emotion. He wasn’t exactly enjoying this brand of feeling. He turns away from the painting, focused on finding someone or something to distract him. He takes a cup of wine from a passing waiter and spies a flicker of blue to his left. He turns slightly to follow it with his eyes.

He had noticed her across the room when the museum functionaries unveiled the sculpture on the center of the gallery.  Clad in a flattering blue wrap dress, she was the combination of elegance and sensuality Frederick was immediately attracted to. She had smiled so happily at the sculpture before turning to her companion to whisper something excitedly. Frederick hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on, he had been taken aback by the thrill he felt at seeing such a beautiful woman smile. He turned away quickly then, not wanting to be caught staring.

He had gotten little glimpses of her as the gathering progressed while talking to acquaintances here and there. It wasn’t like he knew many of the people here or knew them well. These were just the sort of polite, short conversations held by civilized society to get to know who is who. Normally Frederick would be very interested in this, in flaunting and getting to expand his network of connections. But tonight, everything was repetitive and dull. Truth be told, it wasn’t like any of them were really interested in him.

And now he found himself again staring across the room at the pretty lady in blue. When he allowed himself the fantasy, that was the kind of woman he would imagine himself with. Shared dinners, romantic getaways, and all that followed.  She would be intelligent and loving and maybe would hum softly as she searched for something to read in his bookshelves. The type of someone to finally introduce to his grandmother. But that was definitely taking daydreaming too far and too improbable. Frederick always fancied himself a good catch, he was after all a psychiatrist with a more than well-paying job at a prestigious institution.  But now he just felt, as a whole (what was left of him anyways), inadequate.

She was commenting something to her companion with a teasing look in her eyes. He laughed at whatever she said and responded likewise. She gave him a knowing look and a playful slap in the arm. Frederick watches their interaction, body language comfortable but not romantic. He admires the line of her jaw and follows down her neck, the becoming décolletage of her dress, her hands holding an almost empty wine glass by her middle, and down her legs to her tasteful shoes. He lifts his glaze again to her face, the curve of her lips and her eyes which…were staring back at him.

He felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, felt the sudden hard thud of his heart and the tell-tale heat of his blush crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He stiffens all over and clutches the handle of his cane. She offers a friendly smile. Not knowing what to do, he awkwardly looks to the side and to the ground avoiding further eye contact.

“It’s good to see you around, Frederick.” the soft, accented voice of Hannibal Lecter arrives just in time. Frederick collects himself quickly and greets him.

\--

Of course you had noticed him, a well-dress man in shades of green and seemingly far too young to need a cane.  You had looked him over a couple of times in lulls in conversation. He had a good pair of shoulders, rested the weight of his torso on the cane sometimes…must have suffered an injury. When he was staring at the Degas portrait, you could see his profile clearly. An attractive long nose under a heavy set brow. Not unlike the profiles of emperors on old Roman coins…if only he had looked over…

You were glad Ivan was seeing the new head of the European Arts department at the Walters; he had managed to get you an invitation to the event. It did you good tonight, the wine and seeing the new Degas sculpture. It paid off having friends sleeping with high places. You had met a few interesting people and Ivan, not so subtlety, introduced you to some doctor called Clifford Fraenkel. That definitely wasn’t going anywhere. One would think that by now Ivan knew your taste in men.

You felt someone eyeing you; you turn your head to look. It’s the young fellow with the cane, looking at your shoes and then your face and then he notices you’re looking back. You hold his gaze. Poor man looks so scared at getting caught, his cheeks darkening.  You smile at him, but it does little to help him. He stiffens and looks away awkwardly, before being approached by two taller men. Hm, one was Dr. Fraenkel and the other one…Lecter? You’ve heard of him in passing comments tonight, something about his dinner parties.

You tilt your head to the side as you regard the one with the cane for a moment longer…he’s cute, like a floundering duckling.

Ivan taps you on the arm to get your attention. “Ready to go?”

“Sure, I’ll just finish my wine. Tired of waiting for Michael to come over?” You ask him teasingly.

“Oh, shut up. He’s busy with this party. Be grateful, he’s the one who let you in.”

“I really wanted to get to know him, since you’ve been raving about him.”

“I hardly rave, but he is the most darling man I’ve ever met. Hmm, maybe we could set up a double date with Clifford.” He tries to waggle his eyebrows and fails.

“Don’t even think about it.” You gulp down the last of the wine.

“Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. Let’s go and say goodbye. He’s over there.” You had time to place the empty cup on a caterer’s tray, before Ivan grabs your wrist to pull you toward the group.

“Excuse us, gentlemen.” Ivan interrupts them. You see duckling looking a bit surprised. “Clifford, we just wanted to say goodbye.”

“You’re leaving already? Such a pity. It was a pleasure to see you again, Ivan, and to meet you.” Clifford finishes gently grasping your hands and dipping his head respectfully. “Oh, I’m being terribly rude. These are old medical school fellows of mine, Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Dr. Frederick Chilton.”

You’re introduced and shake their hands. Mm, so it’s Frederick, huh?  Oh, he IS cute.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Chilton.”

He grasps your hand firmly and musters a small smile, “The pleasure is all mine.”

You give him a wide smile and he tries to not melt like the teenager he’s feeling. Pull yourself together, Frederick!  

“Have a good night.” And you’re gone, Frederick follows the clip of your short heels for a moment.

He stays for a little while longer, before excusing himself. Walking to his car, he feels a wave of fatigue. He should really sleep more. He pats his jacket pockets for his key, the sound of laughter makes him look over his car. He sees you and Ivan, arm in arm happily crossing the parking lot. He smiles sadly to himself while getting into his car. Some nights he would give anything to be at the receiving end of such warmth.


	2. Conversation over Beers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thought about his family too much, I'm a sad person. Here we continue with sensitive Frederick, who simply wants someone to just be with. 
> 
> Charmed by the fandom taking some of Mr. Esparza history and adding to Chilton, I made his maternal grandparents Cuban.

Dinner at his brother’s last night had gone… it was gone and passed and that was the important part. He certainly didn’t expect another invitation any time soon. Thought as uncomfortable he had been at the table, he was sure his little brother had a worse night being the buffer between him and his wife.

 After Frederick’s life-threatening encounter with Abel Gideon, Evan has been trying to fix their relationship. Or at least make something amiable of it.

Frederick suspected it had a lot to do with the recent birth of his second child and the sibling business he was now going to be dealing with. Evan confessed it when driving him home after getting checked-out from recovery. That he wasn’t sure about raising two brothers well when he couldn’t even have a peaceful conversation with his own, that maybe they should take this as sign.

Frederick scoffed at this. A sign, really? The violent extraction of his insides a sign for fraternal reconciliation?

 After a long, tense moment he sighed. He merely told Evan that he shouldn’t use their example as a mirror for the future of his kids, he had done a good job with Eric and was sure he would continue to do so with what’s-his-name. Evan laughed and thanked him genuinely for his words. Then reminded him that the name of his new nephew was Alexander and punched him on the arm, which Frederick didn’t appreciate but figured he deserved it.

 He probably deserved worse, for he wasn’t as self-deluded to not recognize he was mostly responsible for their animosity. As a kid he laid all the blame on Evan for receiving all their parents’ preference. A jealousy that continued on through teenage years and made him bitter.  It had made him see all of Evan’s good will and praise toward him as mockery not so different from his school bullies. Took him leaving home for college to realize it wasn’t so, not from Evan. By then it felt too late to make amends and Frederick was too proud. And now they didn’t know how to talk to each other.

He appreciated it, the visits. Evan had been Frederick’s only frequent visitor at the hospital, which wasn’t that frequently with him having a job and a family. But he made the effort and would stop by to check that everything was fine, or if he needed anything. Often times he would bring little Eric to visit, who himself would bring gifts for his Uncle Fred. Homemade cards decorated with elbow macaroni and the like.

Not his father, nor his mother, nor said Uncle Fred could explain why Eric liked him so much. Especially when they saw so little of each other, but Frederick wasn’t going to complain about the few shows of affections he got. Eric was a good kid. Frederick always remembered to send him gifts on his birthday and holidays.

Evan suffered Frederick’s complains about the terrible hospital sheets and the diet change with patience. Brought him books to read and didn’t comment on the lack of friendly visits or Get-Well presents in his room.  Unfortunately he also witnessed a panic attack, much to Frederick’s humiliation. Tried to advice him about looking on the bright side of life, much to Frederick’s chagrin.

When Evan invited him over, he wasn’t going to be as rude as to decline. Although whatever progress they may have made through Evan’s effort didn’t help. His wife Diane still hated Frederick and made no move to disguise it. He couldn’t stand her either, so they were even. The evening was spent exchanging veiled comments and passive-aggressively passing the salt with poor Evans trying to dissipate the tension. He may have over done it with the jab at her emotional instability after pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stay quiet.

Frederick took his queue to leave after Diane’s stage whisper from the kitchen; “So this is how it’s going to be now? Taking him in every once in a while like a stray cat because you feel sorry for him? After all the shit he has given you? He survived. Just leave him to his insufferable existence.”

He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Diane or anything she said, but he certainly didn’t need his brother’s pity.

Tonight he had given in to a sudden wave of nostalgia. Back at his office, dreading to go back home, he checked to see if there was anything happening in town that may catch his interest. A Swedish pianist would be playing Brahms concertos at the Museum of Fine Arts, it wasn’t too out of the way and right next to his old college.  A semi-formal affair, it seemed.

Brahms reminded him of his grandmother. He would go to her house to practice on his grandfather’s second-hand piano.  But instead of playing the repertoire given by his instructor, she would make him coffee and sweet treats and teach him jazzy tunes and boleros. All of which he always enjoyed more than his classical instruction.  When his grandma was singing something by Daniel Santos while he played along and his mother would knock to pick him up for dinner, he would automatically switch to Brahms and massacre the piece.

 His Tata was the reason he continue taking piano classes after he turned twelve and his mother made him choose. It pleased her so much. If there was someone who was always happy to see him it was his grandmother, who smiled like she knew the universal truth. Frederick counted it as his lucky star that he was her first grandchild and by that sole fact alone had somehow claimed her heart. He should go visit her on Sunday, it was only a two hour drive.

He arrived a bit late at the function; everyone was seated already in the museum patio. There were two empty seats in the back. It served him just fine even if he didn’t relish the seat beside him marking his lonesomeness. The pianist was walking on stage and settling on the bench, Frederick took a moment to scan the crowd. A man three rows down to his right had his father’s profile and he did a double take. For fuck’s sakes, if every cultural activity was going to sent him into a spiral of painful familial reflection he would rather stay home and binge-watch a cop show. This was absurd.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and was about to turn with a scowl.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a soft female voice asks.

He looks back and sees you. Your eyes widened a bit in recognition, “Oh. It’s Dr. Chilton, isn’t it?”

For a moment he stares up dumbly and merely responds, “Yes…”

He sees you gesture to the chair next to him and he remembers your first question, he straightens his back before answering.

“N-no. Go ahead and seat, miss.”

“Thank you.” You smile kindly and seat to his left as they dim the lights a little and the pianist starts to play.

You turn to the stage and Frederick looks at you for a moment longer before doing the same. He settles into his seat, hands placed over the handle of his cane between his legs. He grips the handle hard momentarily, trying to ground himself in the present. He swallows and pushes down the most absurd wave of nerves he’s suffered in a long time.

\--

Frederick felt a bit light-headed and wasn’t sure how long this streak of fortune was going to last, but he decided to just go with it.

 You chatted amicably and easily during the intermission over a glass of wine. Both were alone there, had decided to stop for some music after work. You had asked about his work and he about yours.

“It’s hardly as interesting, Dr. Chilton. I teach art history here in John Hopkins. I was staying late today with a couple of undergraduates who wanted help in a project.”

“Should I call you professor then?”

“Not at all. Feel free to drop formalities with me. Only my students call me by my last name.”

“Only if you do the same for me.”

“Alright then, Frederick.” And you had smiled as if relishing the taste of an exquisite sweet and he felt his cheeks warm up.

You continued on to discuss the disappointing performance and the even more disappointing Ribera they’re serving.

An unexpectedly funny comment by Frederick on the wine and the museum’s director’s appearance startled a loud laugh from you. It earned you a couple of glares as you covered your mouth charmingly in mock embarrassment.

You had turned to him then and with a bit of a bashful smile asked, “I hope this isn’t too forward or anything, but seeing as the crowd is full of old coots and the pianist isn’t so good…would you like to go somewhere else for a drink? I know a good bar just around the corner, five steps away.”

You could have asked him to help you break a man’s knees with those same smiling eyes and he probably would have agreed just as quickly. That is how Frederick found himself entering a hole-in-the-wall establishment a couple of minutes later, no visible sign outside and a distinct aura of nebulosity. Not the sort of place he would ever frequent, nor imagine a lady like you to know of. But you enter with all the familiarity in the world and for a split second he feels like he is being led to a trap by a siren.

But all of Frederick’s dramatic worries are for naught; it’s a quaint, quiet little place. Over the bar a red neon-light sign spells in cursive _Lorca’s_ , a matronly older woman serves behind the counter.  Small groups are spread around the local without crowding it, not loud or rowdy. It was a Thursday night after all.

You greet the woman with a wide grin and do a quick introduction.

 “Lucille, this is Dr. Chilton, a fellow concert attendee. Dr. Chilton, this is Lucille, the owner and merciless ruler of this fine establishment” and order a beer. Frederick also settles for the same, the unassuming ambience of the bar helping him relax and smile at his newest acquaintance.

 “You go pick a table and I’ll take your drinks.” With a flap of Lucille’s hand, you’re both dismissed.  You pick the full peanut bowl from the bar before walking to a small table for two.

“Who’s Lorca then?” he asks as he sits down.

“The place is named after the Spanish poet, Federico Garcia Lorca.”

“I imagine there’s a story.”

“Most definitely. But it’s your preference, the long tale by Lucille herself or the condensed one?”

“If the long tale features detailed accounts of passionate encounters and trivialities, I’ll rather not.”

“You’ll rather not until you know me better, doctor.” Lucille’s voice is heard behind him and quickly followed by the rest of her. She places two beer bottles and an empty bowl for the peanut shells on the table.  She tips his chin playfully and winks before turning around to tend to other patrons.

You reach for a peanut and see his cheeks grow a bit pink. You smile, “Don’t mind her, she’s just a big ol’ flirt. Now, when Lucille was an impressionable youth from cold Seattle she read Garcia Lorca’s Gipsy Ballads. He became her obsession and Andalucía her goal. So one day she decided to leave home behind and left alone to explore Spain, hiring herself as a cook in hotels all over the peninsula. The unexpected, the desired, the tragic happened. Until thebetrayal in the form of a seductive musician had her crossing the Atlantic once again. This time settling in New York, still after the trail of her poet.”

“How did she come to Baltimore?” he asks before taking a refreshing swing of his beer.

“Fell in love with a man and followed him here when he promised marriage.”

“Uh oh.” He prompts you to continue.

“Indeed. Bastard walked out on her, and what was she to do? Decided it was about time she had her own business and here we are. Named after the true love of her life, you can spy a picture of him next to the sherry. But she did meet a lovely man, Ernest, the cook and the father of her children. He makes the best red pepper stromboli.”

He chuckles at that.

“Now whenever you want to hear about what happened on a warm summer night in Malaga, just go by the counter someday and she will you tell what she can do with a bullfighter’s cape.”

He finds himself laughing, “I’ll consider it. You could write her biography.”

“All the regulars here could write her life. She’s sweet, if a bit chatty. So, where are you from, Frederick?” You ask him, reaching for the peanut bowl again.

It takes him by surprise. Frederick was accustomed to making all the questions and analyzing the answers. Aside from his most talkative patients, with whom he’s evasive with that type of information; few people in recent times had come around interested in him enough to ask. It made him automatically suspicious, given his line of work. But he looks at you looking back expectantly. Your demeanor inviting and unassuming all evening, it felt silly suddenly his train of thought.

“Is everything alright?” you ask, frowning slightly at his silence.

“P-Pennsylvania. Philadelphia, actually.” He says quickly before clearing his throat. “My apologies.”

“No worries. Did you come to study here?” You continue asking, taking a drink.

“Yes, did my specialization in Johns Hopkins. Soon after I graduated, I started working at the state hospital.” He answers, smiling a bit proudly. He reaches for the peanuts reluctantly, they’re still in the shells maybe they’re not so contaminated with other people’s germs. “Did you study there as well?”

“No, I came to Baltimore by fate a couple of years ago. I had started teaching in Chicago, but then my contract wasn’t renewed due to budget cuts. As it happens that same day Ivan, the man with me at the gallery, called up to tell me about an opening in his faculty. I applied and here I am.”

You spend the rest of the night like that, asking questions over beers. You notice he speaks proudly of his time studying psychiatry and his own investigations in the field. He doesn’t elaborate on the subject of family, beyond mentioning his brother, nephews and his Cuban grandmother still living in Philadelphia. You don’t have siblings, but regale him with a few anecdotes about your army of cousins.  He listens attentively to your stories and asks about your academic interests.

 In the back of his mind he marvels at the effortless quality of the conversation. He noticed you looking at his hands a couple of times, which made him flex them self-consciously. You were polite enough not to enquire about the cane.

When you lift your hand to ask for another round, Lucille looks at you both with a raised eyebrow.

“Which one of you is driving?” She asks from the counter.

“We both are.”

“Well, you’re only getting coffee and tap water from me.”

He sees you pout as you turn to him and he wills himself not to stare.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she? Taking care of us.”

\--

Later, he takes advantage of you excusing yourself for the bathroom to pay for everything. Thought he doesn’t appreciate Lucille’s evaluating stare toward his person, he's not planning anything indecorous.

“Really, Frederick, you shouldn’t have. I was the one who brought you here.” You tell him after coming back and finding the tab paid for.

“It was my pleasure. I’ve had a good night with you.” He tells you shyly.

“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed it as well.”

He offers to walk you to your car after that. He’s had a good time, the most pleasant night he’s had after Gideon if he’s sincere. He would really like to see you again, but would you? You were a charming woman and seemly, genuinely interested in him. He didn’t really know how to take the attention.

Maybe you were just being friendly, since you were alone and he was alone and this was just a coincidence sort of thing.  You wouldn’t be interested in him that way. You were most likely already seeing someone, there just hadn’t been a moment to mention it. As you near the parking lot, his nerves start up.

You stop next to your car and search for your keys. He stands by awkward, debating what he should do.

“It was very fine to see you, Frederick. Thank you again for the beers.” You tell him.

 “Likewise.” He replies with a nervous smile, taking that as his signal. “Have a good night.”

He turns around as you go to open your car door, but stops.  Well, he’ll just vow to never attend any other cultural functions if you say no.

He calls your name as he turns back. “Would you-“ he cuts himself to clear his throat nervously, as he felt his voice too loud and too high.

“Would you like to have dinner sometime? …Soon?” He ends up mumbling, looking at the side of your car rather than you.

Momentarily stunned at the initial loudness of the request, you look at him standing with his cane before him, both hands over the handle, eyes lowered. Oh, you do like them shy.

“I-I’m sorry I asked-“

You cut him off, “No, no”.

You shake your head and correct yourself quickly when he looks up with something like hurt in his eyes. “I mean you don’t have to apologize. I would like to go out for dinner with you.”

His face breaks into a genuine grin before he can help himself. You smile back.

“What’s your number?” you ask him as you bend to get your cellphone from your purse, already in the car.

You punch it in and give him a call. His phone starts to vibrate in his breast pocket.

“That would be me. I’m free this weekend, just give me a call.” You take a couple of steps away from you car and give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I will.” He replies faintly.

“Good night, Frederick.” You smile before turning back and entering your car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Eric can spy a lost soul a mile away and goes to take care of it. And that's just what uncle Fred is.
> 
> Fortunately for the object of his affections, Chilton's sensibility and idea of romance/relationships comes from his grandparents, who were loving and supportive of each other. His parent's marriage was a big mess. His mother ended up having a rather sad, frustrated life and taking out some of her bitterness on Frederick.
> 
> I've thought so much about his grandma, I want to write him visiting her and talking about his date while helping her chop vegetables. 
> 
> Daniel Santos was Puerto Rican singer and composer of boleros, whose songs became very popular in Cuba where he joined and collaborated with many of the popular artists and bands of the 1940's. 
> 
> Feedback and suggestions are always welcomed! I hope you enjoy this one, even if the second half sprawls out.


	3. At the Pier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Chilton is falling hard and fast. 
> 
> Excuse me if it gets a bit cheesy at the end, but after that finale I needed some happiness and tenderness.

Frederick spent Sunday with his grandmother. She was as sweet as ever and it did him a world of good. When he showed up at her apartment door with a bag full of avocados and plantains, she had smiled and stroked his face.

“You finally shaved! I’ve always said you got too handsome a face to hide it.” she told him, letting him in.

“You only say that because you think I look like abuelo.”

“So? You do and I had great appreciation for his face, even when he wrinkled up. Ah!” she exclaimed as she tapped his cane with her own, “Look at that, now we match!”

Frederick helped her cook. Well, helped by chopping up ingredients and keeping her company. They talked about his recovery, work, and her health. He indulged her in remembering his grandfather and her youth, and he stressed his offer to buy her a house in the outskirts of the city so she could have her own garden. She refused him again, “I thank you but don’t bother, hijo. I may have accepted it when your grandfather died, but I’m too old now to leave this neighborhood.”

“I don’t like you being here alone.” He replied cutting into an Italian pepper.

“I don’t mind it, dear. I still got my friends around. Your mother and aunt are close by and they visit every other day. I miss Emmanuel terribly some days but I’ve accepted that this is how it must be and here is where we shared our lives. I would be lonesome then if I left the place I’ve truly lived away from home.” They fell into silence, standing side by side in front of the kitchen counter.

He took a moment to look up from the cutting board, to contemplate the dining table close by and the living room beyond it.  His grandparents had lived in that apartment for almost the same time as they had been living in the United States. They had had their children there and raised them, it was from where both their daughters stepped out into their own lives in their wedding dresses. His grandfather used to entertain their friends in the living room with lively chatter, playing domino or cards or belting out familiar tunes on his piano while his wife sang along. This was the place Frederick would more often than not run straight to after a particularly rough day at school. He realized he would not feel the same way if he were to leave his own house. Even when he has been living there for years and he was proud of it, the place held very little in terms of quality memories beyond calm and lonesome nights.

“You know, I don’t like you being alone in that big house of yours either.” She told him after a while, and she must have seen him roll his eyes at that. “I know you don’t like when I do this, but I just want you be cared for and by someone good who can appreciate you. Now, Maria’s daughter is charming girl. She is a darling, very caring and humble, looks just like a young Anita Eckberg. I think she wants to continue in the food bussi-“

“Tata, please!” He interrupted her, trying to make her stop.

“Or Rosalind’s grandson! Such a lovely fellow. He is finishing his doctorate in Russian literature…or was it Fren-”

“Stop! I don’t – I don’t want matchmaking. Don’t need anyone to take care of me.” He started chopping the last of the peppers to not look at her, his cheeks a faint pink. After fencing off three more subtle date proposals he finally gave in, told her he had had date that Saturday and about you.

She hummed at the end and kept stirring the chopped peppers into the sauce in silence. “What's her full name?”   

He told her while frowning, “Why?”.

“I’ll put her name in honey for you. She doesn’t sound the bad sort, we’ll sweeten her up.”

“Abuela, please stop it.”

“Hush now. I just worry for you. I’m sure you can sweeten her up all on your own, but a little help never hurts.” She tried to hold back a smile when he groaned in embarrassment.  “Leave the onions to me, go and play me something. That way you can start practicing for when you want to romance your girl. ”

That is one of the reasons why he never told any of his family anything about his personal life, even when he actually had to opportunity to.

\--

He was early at the office that following Monday morning. He really needed to get his sleeping schedule in line, maybe he should get some prescription pills. His restless train of thought and the more than occasional nightmare were doing a great job at keeping him exhausted.

He knew he shouldn’t be giving it much thought, but he wasn’t very happy about your _I’ll call you._  when he dropped you off at your apartment late on Saturday. He’s heard that before. It was usually followed by a long silence until, if he was still interested, he decided to call only to get a _I don’t think I want to see you again_. He was getting old to be dismissed like that, he thought.

But he was very interested in seeing you again. It had been so long since he even gone out on a date, especially one as good as last Saturday, at least for him. He had wanted to impress, taken you to one of the most expensive and nicest places in town, gone to pick you up in his freshly washed car, worn his best suit. Had tried hard to make sure you’ll like to stick around. He had been so nervous as you walked down the walk way in front of your building, looking lovely in a deep green cocktail dress. By the time you were seated at the restaurant he had managed to calm down, thanks in big part to your peaceful and inviting disposition. The conversation had flowed as effortlessly as on Thursday night once he had managed to let himself go.

You had kissed his cheek tenderly on greeting him and when saying goodnight. He would have wanted to return the gesture and perhaps reach for your hand over the table, but he wasn’t sure if the touch would be as welcomed and he didn’t feel that comfortable yet. You were sweet and attentive; he liked it a lot even if it overwhelmed him a little. He’ll just have to give you the benefit of doubt and wait, now he had the conversations of psychopaths to listen to.

It was later that day, while he was reheating some of the food his grandmother gave him for dinner, when you called back. He tried to tone it down, but you heard the smile in his voice after you asked him if he was free for drinks that Wednesday.

\--

Unfortunately, a last minute emergency at the hospital had kept Chilton from seeing you. He called you again later that night, sounding genuinely regretful. You were disappointed but it was nothing he could control.

“As long as you’re available for an early dinner on Saturday, you have nothing to be sorry about.” You told him in teasing tone before adding, “There’s a small Turskish restaurant close to Pier 3 where the food is incredible. We could walk a little afterwards; the harbor is lovely at night.”   

You had fun on the first date, you really did. Frederick had been quite nervous, probably hadn’t been on a date in a while. The restaurant had been extravagant, the food and drink fantastic and he looked very handsome.

He was trying very hard to impress you, you thought, as he commented in who was who and made snarky remarks. He had a tendency for sarcasm and sassiness, which had you in near-equal parts amused and slightly irritated. But he was always well-mannered and polite toward you. Once he relaxed into the date, he showed that shy sweet side of his you encountered last Thursday. You complemented each other well in conversation. He had a quality that just pulled at you and made you tender to him. For all his flash seemed to cover his own vulnerability. He was smart, interesting and smelled really good, so you were happy to meet with him again.

You figured that perhaps going to a place with a more intimate atmosphere would help relax him. Plus, the food there was amazing and it was one of your favorite places in town. Frederick had commented on being on a strict diet due to an accident (thought you may have googled him and Tattle Crime was more than a little informative about his ‘accident’), and this restaurant had a great spread of vegetarian dishes.

He picked you up again; he looked very charming dressed more casual. Thought he still wore a tie under his cozy blue sweater.  But it didn’t take the extra smack out that kiss on cheek, which made him fluster a little.

You lost track of time inside the restaurant.  It was a lovely place you always thought as romantic with its warm colors, spicy smell and soft lights. Seated in a rather small table in the back, your legs brushed constantly but you didn’t mind, thought you notice he would tense at the touch. He complained a little about the cramp space and the odd odor outside, but once the food arrived he couldn’t find a negative thing. From them on everything went smoothly.

After complete culinary satisfaction, you proposed to a walk along the harbor. That’s how you find yourself leisurely walking along the waterfront promenade with Frederick, trying to make him laugh with a silly story about when you tried to fool your way out of going to a cousin’s wedding.  Smiles look really good on him.

You’ve been inching closer to brush your hand against his left as you walked. You reach out hold his hand gently. When he doesn’t pull away, you intertwine your fingers loosely until you feel his grip tighten a little. You give him a soft smile; he returns it before looking ahead quickly, his ears turning red. You would like to pull him to you for a kiss, you’ve been musing about those tempting lips of his since he dropped you off last Saturday. But everything in due time.

Frederick felt his chest constrict pleasantly when you took his hand. It was such an unusual and pleasurable thing, walking hand in hand with someone. It almost felt alien to be happening to him. You walk like that for a while, having lapsed into a comfortable silence and enjoy each other’s company. He thinks about the tender looks you kept giving him over dinner that made him swiftly look away, not know what to make of them. He thought of how your legs bumped and touched under the table when you stretched yours in the cramped space, how when he said something amusing and it made you smile. The sudden and almost too-easy intimacy overwhelmed him and made him blush.  

You stop by the railing to admire the light of the harbor.

“I-I’d like to see you again.” He tells you, giving your hand a quick squeeze to catch your attention.

You turn to him fully and smiling coyly, take a step closer. He stiffens as you near, the hand holding his lets go to move up his arm. Hmm, maybe now… “You know what I’d like, Frederick?” you say to him softly,  your other hands moving up his chest to stop and touch the skin of his neck just at the edge of his collar.

His breath hitches as he feels your fingertips on his neck, at the drop of your voice and your eyes flickering to his lips before looking back at him. “What?” he finds himself whispering,before swallowing nervously. He raises the hand you were holding to grab your arm, while his other tightens its hold on the handle of his cane.

“I would like to kiss you.” You respond, moving your body flushed against his.

“Can I?”you whisper, tilting you face up, you warm breath caressing his chin. The hand at his collar moves up to cup the side of his neck, your thumb starting to gently trace his jaw. His lips part slightly on their own.

He feels hot all over, he can’t feel the chilly night breeze. He feels a shock of disbelieve, you want to kiss him? He glances at your face, your chin tilted in invitation, your gaze warm under heavy eyelids, a sultry look that makes him want to give in to whatever you want. His breathing starts to pick up.

“Yes..." his breathy response as he nods as well, looking at your lips.

You lean in, closing your eyes, and he meets you half way.

It’s at first a gentle brush of lips before you tilt your head to kiss him fully. He sighs into the touch, his right hand changing its clutch on his cane to raise his arm around your waist to pull you closer. It’s a soft but ardent kiss, your hand cups his cheek. He dwells on the warmth and suppleness of your lips, feels them part, your tongue a teasing press against his lower lip. He slants his mouths at your request, allowing you access and he moans into your mouth. His arms tighten around you, he’s starting to feel drunk. He feels you shiver and he wishes he could clutch you closer to his body. You suck on his lower lip slightly before pulling away, he chases after your mouth before catching himself. You chuckle quietly, your thumb touches his chin fondly as he you looks at you a bit embarrassed.  

You give his lips a quick, chaste kiss. You smile brightly at him, enjoying that fact that he’s still holding you close. “I’d like to continue seeing you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you've liked this little set and haven't mind my headcanons slipping in like that. We'll be returning to the smut shortly. 
> 
> As always feedback and comments are appreciated, they fuel my ideas!
> 
> P.S. If you would like to read an specific situation or have me include something in a future installment, you can write your suggestions in the comments! I've been thinking of following Saturday at the Office with some fun in the kitchen and a bit of food play. *wink*

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments are more than welcomed! 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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